Brother Dave Morehouse
D:.I:.A:. Remote Viewer & NDE Experiencer


Excerpt from:
_Psychic Warrior_
1996 by David Morehouse
St Martins Press, New York
ISBN 0-312-14708-2

"Inhaling deeply, I tried cleansing myself of the toxins in my mind.
I sucked in the cold air, trying to exhale the haunting images that
plagued me. After several purifying breaths I leaned over the hood
of the car, resting my head against the warm metal. God, I HAD to
get a grip. Why was this bothering me so much? What was the big
deal? I slammed my fist into the hood. I knew what the fucking big
deal was. I was reading about human beings who turned into
fucking ghosts, and as if that weren't enough, they traveled in
time to look at stuff and come back again. They fucking hovered
above the ground, walked through walls and spoke to evil spirits..."

Powerful Religious Artifacts: A Remote View
by Major David Morehouse

I was scheduled for a ten o'clock ERV session with a training target and Mel as my monitor. We walked to the viewing building together. Mel carried his coffee in a broken-down chipped-up mug about a hundred and fifty years old. I was surprised it held liquid, but he was never without it.

"I think you'll enjoy today's little journey," he said.

"I could use a little entertainment."

Once I was set up and ready, I started my countdown; in a few minutes I was entering the ether and on my way to the target.

"Give me your impressions as soon as possible. I don't want you wasting any time here."

"I'm someplace like a cave. It smells musty and the ground is cold. The air isn't moving at all, and it's completely dark. I can't see anything at all." I moved forward in the direction the signal line led.

"No, I see a small flicker of light in front of me."

Riley leaned back in his chair and watched the video monitor closely. "Good! See what the light is."

I moved toward the light as fast as I could, but it seemed to move away from me, as if I were chasing something in a dream. I chased the light for about ten minutes, but though I was moving in what I thought was a straight line, I just wasn't gaining any ground. Frustrated, I stopped.

"I've stopped moving toward the light source, Mel. I just couldn't close on it. I don't know if I'm not really moving, or if it's moving away from me. I'm just standing here in the dark now."

"Do you sense anything in the darkness? Anyone or anything?"

My first thought was Great! Just what I want to do, grab something in the dark. "All I can say, Mel, is this target better not be a page out of the Odyssey. If I run into a-"

"Oh, be quiet and look around. You can't remote-view something that never happened, for crying out loud."

Suddenly, the cavern I stood in was flooded with brilliant light that came from within the surrounding stone. The light vanished as quickly as it had come. "What the hell was that?" I shouted.

"Tell me what you saw."

"I saw a light coming from the walls of the cavern. By the way, I am in a cavern; the light just confirmed that. But it's dark again and I see nothing."

Again and again the light pulsed and disappeared, like a strobe. The pulses seemed to pierce my eyes and ears, even my flesh. The temperature of the cavern began to rise rapidly, and it was increasingly difficult to breathe. I told Mel so.

"You need to move on out of there," he replied. "Take a look around for another passageway."

Sure enough, behind me was a wide arched passage into another room. I hadn't seen it because I was facing away from it chasing the light; in retrospect, it was as if the light had been trying to lead me away.

The next room was smaller, a rectangle about twenty feet by ten feet with a ceiling maybe fifteen feet high. Like the larger chamber, it was lit from within the surrounding stone, but something was different, as if the pulsing energy I'd felt in the larger chamber originated here.

"I'm in the smaller of the two rooms, and there seems to be no way out of this one except the entrance I used. I sense some form of energy here, and I'm having difficulty focusing my vision on the center of the room. There's something here that I can't see -- but there's something here, for sure."


"An object, a personality, a definitive energy source?"

I struggled to see. "There's a low platform in the center of the room. It's carved out of stone."

"What are its dimensions?"

"About five feet by three feet, and maybe ten inches high. I can't see's like a mirage in the center of the room."

"You can't focus on it?"

"Exactly. It's vibrating too fast. The vibration's like a camouflage of sorts. Something's there, but I'm not supposed to be seeing it. Something very unusual and powerful."

"Okay, here's what I want you to do. Try and move to a time when there is less vibration and you might be able to see."

I understood; we'd worked on movement exercises like this before. The idea was that if I initiated movement in time the signal line would take me where I could view the target clearly. It had worked on some small training targets, but I hadn't tried it on anything like this.

I concentrated on the movement through time and closed my eyes to the events speeding by. I felt vertigo setting in, which indicated the speed of my movement. I'd found it best to keep my eyes closed so as not to vomit. Finally the sensation of movement slowed gradually and stopped. When I opened my eyes, I beheld the most bizarre scene.

In the center of the room a group of peasants chipped away at the stone of the floor, forming the pedestal I'd already seen. Now time scrolled forward, stopped briefly, then scrolled forward again: the signal line was moving me at will, allowing me to see the room at various points in time. Finally it stopped completely, at a point it must have "felt" was critical to the mission.

In amazement, I watched as four men dressed in ancient-seeming clothes carried a golden box into the room. One man at each corner of the object, they reverently positioned it in the center of the stone pedestal and retreated backward from the room, their heads bowed. Now a huge stone covered the room's entrance, and slowly all outside light was blocked as the men labored to seal the passage. Oddly, the golden box kept the room lighted. And the same strange energy I had felt before, when I could see nothing, filled the cavern. A sense of threat came over me; I felt I was being warned not to approach the box.

"What's going on, David?"

"I'm in the presence of the object and it's very weird, as though I were standing in the presence of some very powerful deity. The golden box is a symbol of that power, and it's warning me not to come closer."

"I want you to ignore the warning and get as close as you can. Touch it if you can, and describe the sensation to me."

I tried to move toward the object. "It's a golden box with animals on top of it."

"Real animals?"

"No, small statues, and they have wings that sweep backward and up. The box itself is very powerful, or maybe it's something that protects the box that's powerful. Whatever it is, I can't get any closer. I feel I'm in real danger of being hurt; I don't like this."

"Remember, you're not physically there. But tell me what you think would happen if you were physically there. Describe that sensation to me.

"I think that nothing mortal can be in this presence. I couldn't even be in the same room with it; if I were, I'd perish instantly."

"You'd die?"

"No, I don't think 'die' is the word. I'm thinking more along the lines of being vaporized. But I seem to feel that that would mean another movement to another place, only I wouldn't have any control over it. What I'm trying to say is, nobody's supposed to be here. Even we aren't supposed to be here; it's an invasion, an intrusion into something very powerful and sacred."

"Ah, that word 'sacred.' Explore that a bit -- look into the essence of the box. What's there that's sacred?"

I moved around the box carefully, never taking my eyes off it and never letting the doorway out of my sight. "Well, I sense that this symbol is, or has been used as, a tool."

"What sort of tool?"

"I don't know exactly. It had some very lofty purpose, and it served a great number of people for a long time. Then it was placed here until it was needed again. Many people lost their lives to be able to use it; even more died in order to get it here."

"Why is it in that lonely place, do you think?"

"It's been hidden until called out again. Its purpose has been served for now, but not forever. It's being protected. If you try to unravel its secret you are dumbfounded and confused -- that's one of its defenses. If you stumble upon it, you are destroyed or taken away to another place for fear you might reveal the secret."

"All right; you've been there an hour and forty minutes now. Let's break it off and come home."

Those were the words I wanted to hear. I felt very uncomfortable and vulnerable in the cavern. "I'm on my way."

An hour later I sat in the garden room with Levy and Mel and discussed my session with them. They began with the usual questions: "What did you think it was? What is this sketch of? How did you feel?" And so on. They marveled at my sketches of the box and the winged creatures that adorned it. They discussed the powerful unseen presence and the indications of a protective force.


We talked for more than an hour without them revealing anything concrete about the target, but finally Mel suggested that I be given my feedback. Like a dog waiting for a bone, I waited for the envelope. Levy opened it first and looked inside, smiling. Of course, he already knew what the target was; he just wanted to amuse himself with another look at the feedback. Shaking his head, he tossed the artist's sketch from the envelope on the desk in front of me and walked out of the room.

"Well, aren't you going to look at it?" Riley asked.

I turned the paper over to see a painting and description of the Ark of the Covenant. "Oh, my God," I said slowly.

"'Oh, my God' are the exact words I was looking for." Riley laughed. "I was sure you were gonna say 'em anytime. But the damned thing is just too powerful. I had the same problem. The only person to ever call it in the air, so to speak, was Posner. I think it's because he's such a hardhead he didn't hear the thing warning him not to come any closer, or maybe he knew what it looked like before he got started -- he's kind of religious, you know. Have you ever seen a picture before?"

"Nope! I've heard of it -- I mean, who hasn't? But I never knew what it looked like. Or felt like."

"Some very important religious articles were carried around the desert in that thing. It went along with Moses in the wilderness."

"Yeah, I'm sort of familiar with the story. I had to take religion every semester at BYU."

"Did you know the Ark was part of a dimensional opening?"

"What do you mean, 'dimensional opening'?"

"I mean a portal that lets you move from one dimension to another. I think God dwells in a four-dimensional world; that's why He's omnipresent and omniscient. When the high priests went into the inner sanctum of the Temple in the wilderness, they tied ropes to their ankles so their buddies could pull them back. These guys were traveling somewhere, and I believe it was to another dimension, where they would commune with the Creator. The ropes on their ankles were their way of making sure they had a round-trip ticket. Cool, huh?"

I stared at him. "You never cease to amaze me, my friend."


Space Aliens: A Remote View

"The CIA is in the business of manipulating the belief systems of entire nations. I doubt they're above working in their own back yard if it suits them."
-Major David Morehouse, DIA Remote Viewer

One day two weeks later, with Mel monitoring, I undertook what was called an open search. In an open search, you have no coordinates to guide you; you just invite the signal line to take you wherever there's something to be learned. Remote viewers did these every so often just so they could remember that there are more of them out there -- more planets, more beings, more civilizations -- than there are of us...I guess. This was my first such search. Mel had spent the last two days coaching me, but as I began, all I could remember was that they were always humbling experiences, full of surprises.

"Tell me where you are," Mel said.

"In the middle of a prairie. I can see a series of jagged rocks jutting out of the ground about fifty yards away. They're maybe a hundred feet high and they look like black crystals set at a forty-five-degree angle in the ground. It's strikingly beautiful.

"I'm next to the crystals now, and I can see my reflection in them. That's odd -- I've never been able to see my reflection in anything on a search before. Also, the reflection looks as if it's a couple of meters inside the crystal.

"Do you-"

"Whoa! I see other reflections in the crystals." I spun around, thinking something must be beside or behind me, but nothing was. These weren't reflections at all. "Mel! I see movement inside this black crystal wall. The images look human, but I can't quite make them out."

"Babe of the Abyss"

"Move into the wall and find out who they are."

I pressed my hand into the crystal and followed it in. "This seems to be an entrance. There's a stairway leading down; it's about twenty feet wide and it drops from here maybe two hundred feet below the surface. I'm going to follow it."

"I want you to describe the beings to me. Tell me what they're thinking, how they look, and what they do."

I descended the stairway. All around me was a labyrinth of causeways and great arching entrances. Everything I saw was made of the black crystal; everywhere I looked, there were people on foot.

"They look pretty much like us, I guess -- in fact, I can't see anything markedly different. Their clothing is something like what people wore in ancient Egypt, very loose-fitting and accented with gold embroidery and metal. It's white, which contrasts tremendously with the blackness of this place.

"I'm approaching a transparent archway. It covers the walkway I'm on for several hundred feet. I'm in a big room, and this archway runs the length of it. The damned thing is huge."

"Is there a central place where everyone's congregating?"

"I don't know; let me see." One walkway seemed to have heavier traffic than the others, so I moved there. "I'm following a large group now. It's a very strange feeling, walking among these beings. I get the impression they know I'm here -- in fact, several of them have looked directly at me and sort of smiled. They aren't interested in me; they just seem to know I'm here."

"See if any of them will talk to you."

"Okay, whatever you say." Feeling stupid, I waved my arms at the beings, spoke to them, even stood in their way. All they did was look at me; I was in their path, they walked right through me. "Nobody's talking here, Mel. Sorry!"

"Fine, see if you can find some central hub."

"I'm still following this large group; they seem to be turning off ...yeah, we're entering a large room, where everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder. It's like an amphitheater, very narrow at the bottom and wider at the top. Still made of the black crystal."

"What's going on in this place?"

"There's someone sitting in a big elevated chair at the bottom of the room. Everyone here is paying very close attention to whatever this thing says."

"Why are you calling this being a 'thing'?"

"Uh, that's a good question. I think because he or she or it is larger than the others, and dressed differently. They're in all white; this thing's in black. It has a large open hood over its head, with long flowing sleeves that mostly cover its hands. The hands are not like everyone else's; the texture is much rougher, and the color is darker. If I had to call it, I'd say this one is very evil."


"Okay, not evil. He's some kind of lawgiver or something. He directs people to do things, and they do them without question. It's not really clear; he points to people, motions to them, and they leave, apparently to carry out some task."

"Can you speak to this lawgiver?"

"No! And I don't even want to try. I can tell he knows I'm here, but he couldn't care less, and I get the impression he'll be pissed if I try to flaunt the fact that I'm here."

"Okay. Have you seen enough?"

"Yeah, I think I have for now."

"Break it off and come on back."

I thought Mel might be disappointed by my timidity. It seemed he wanted me to really assert myself and let the beings know I was there, but I simply didn't feel comfortable doing that. I felt a certain fascinate on in visiting another world, but I also understood the need to treat it respectfully. I was an invader, not a guest. I saw them look at me; I knew they were aware of my presence, yet they chose not to speak. So it was clear to me that I was being tolerated, not accepted. And I vowed I would never interfere in other worlds. It was their prerogative to acknowledge me, but I would never force myself on them.

Riley snatched my summary out of my hand. "Come on, let's get out of here early and grab a beer. I want to talk to you."

"I hope you're not pissed at me because of the session."

"Pissed? There you go again, thinking you didn't do well. Dave, what you get out of an open search is up to you; the unit doesn't have any expectations. Open searches are freebies; you get to go where the signal line takes you instead of telling it where you want to go. They're like an amusement park, only the tickets are your RV training. Ain't it great?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"So, did you learn anything?"

"I guess I learned that there are other worlds and other civilizations, and that each one has its own agenda in the universe. It puts things into perspective for me. I used to think of the human race as God's chosen people, but I'm obviously wrong.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, who's to say where God's reign starts and stops? I mean, He could be the overseer of that place I visited only hours ago; what makes us any better than those beings?"

"You're catching on, my friend. We're nothing but a little blue spot in a solar system, in a galaxy with a hundred million solar systems, in a universe with a hundred million galaxies. And the truth is we don't know where it ends, or if it does. And we aren't even talking about dimensions yet. Gives you a headache, doesn't it?

I laughed. "It does at that. Let's go get that beer."


Gulf War Syndrome -- A Remote View

1990 RV Session:

I got hooked up and lay down to prepare myself, listening to Beethoven's "Moonlight" Sonata over and over. Five times before I started my countdown I listened to the anguished creation of a man who realized he didn't belong in the world he found himself in. Five times I listened before I found myself falling into a tunnel of light and passing into another world.

I landed crouching and lingered for a moment, gaining my equilibrium. When I rose to my feet I saw a black world of mist, and a hollow sun above me.

"Something's wrong! I'm not at the target, Mel!" I cried. "Mel! I'm off-planet somewhere!"

Riley was scrambling to figure out what to do. "Calm down, Morehouse, get a grip and tell me what you see."

"I'm off-planet and I -- Wait, I hear something."

"What is it?"

"Quiet! Just wait." And then I saw it, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle roared past me out of the black haze. It was quickly followed by another, and yet another, and then three more. They disappeared into the smoke as quickly as they'd come. "Sorry, false alarm. I'm where I'm supposed to be." I don't think I'd ever grinned in the ether before. I thought for sure that Mel was cursing me under his breath.

"Give me a description of your surroundings, Dave. I need to try and pinpoint your location."

"Well, I can't see much from here ...there's black smoke everywhere. I must be standing in the plume of a burning vehicle or something. Let me move to another vantage point." But no matter where I stopped I found myself completely immersed in choking black smoke.

"I can't seem to shake this stuff, it's everywhere. I need to get some real distance if I'm to get out of the smoke."

"Okay," Mel said, "whenever you're ready, I want you to move upward five hundred feet and to the north twenty miles. Go ahead any time.

I felt myself move upward rapidly, and the ground below me blurred as I sped across the terrain and settled in the new target area. Here, too, the air was thick with the black smoke, the ground littered with the rubble of the war. "I still can't see anything, Mel. I think the entire area is blanketed with this stuff."

"What's it made of?"

"It tastes and smells like petroleum, and it's sticky, it coats everything. It's got to be oil. I'm going to look around -- keep listening, okay?"

"I'm here." Mel had to be impatient; he'd expected this to be easier, and so had I.

I started moving in large circles, surveying the ground beneath me and straining to see even fifty feet through the smoke. Periodically, I came upon wrecked vehicles, more often civilian than military ones. The tracks of hundreds of vehicles scarred the sand, almost all going north or northwest. I followed them. I knew the Iraqi army was in retreat, and I assumed they'd be heading away from the direction their destroyed weapons were facing in. I passed over the splayed bodies of many Iraqi soldiers; the smell of their flesh in the desert heat was masked by the equally sickening stench of the black smoke.

"I heard something roaring in the distance, Mel. I'm moving toward it, but the temperature is increasing rapidly."

"I know, I can see your temp rising here. Keep your distance and give me your perceptions.

"Don't worry, I'm getting too old to act stupid."

I traveled along the surface, where I could see more clearly. The roaring got louder and louder, and the heat became unbearable. I moved left and right until I found a spot where the heat was less intense and I could get close enough to glimpse the source.

"It's an oil well. It's burning like crazy; flames must be shooting fifty feet or more into the air. There's raw crude all over the ground, but most of it has already burned. Mel, I've never seen anything like this up close -- it's like a blowtorch standing on end. I've got a hole in the smoke here, so I'm going straight up for a look."

My phantom body rose to a height of thirty meters or so above the well fire. I turned slowly in the air, surveying my surroundings. Everywhere, as far as I could see, blazing torches sprang out of the ground, belching flame and smoke. Plume mixed with plume until they all joined together in one massive black blanket. The heat beneath me reminded me that I had a job to do, and I returned to my lower vantage point.

"This is bad, Mel; every oil well for as far as I can see is on fire. This is real bad. I don't know what to do from here. Obviously they know about this -- who could miss it? Do you think I should come back now?"

Riley thought for a moment. "No; keep looking around. You're right, they surely know about the fires, so there must be something else. You've been on target for about fifty minutes now; can you give it another twenty or thirty minutes before you come back?"

"No problem. Even here, I like it better than back there. I'll keep snooping around."

As I turned away from the oil well, I spotted a small silver object in the sand. "Mel, I think I see something unusual -- a small canister, looks like stainless steel. It's stuck in the sand downwind from the fire."

"What is it?" Riley asked.

"I don't know. It's empty, though -- at least I think it's empty; nothing is coming out of it." I gazed at the object, which leaned like the Tower of Pisa. About twenty or so inches high and about three or four inches in diameter, it was a finished metal cylinder with perhaps four or six inches of its base wedged into the sand to hold it upright. It narrowed at the neck, where a valve was placed. A plastic seal had been torn away and a portion of it lay on the ground next to the cylinder. I circled it, trying to see something that might indicate what the cylinder was, but no luck. "There's something odd about this thing. It just doesn't belong here at all. I'm moving to another wellhead to see if I can find one that has some markings on it, or if there's a pattern here."

"Okay, but first can you get a fix on the location of this one?"

"Too late, I'm already moving. But I don't think I could give you a fix anyway; I can't see enough of the terrain to describe it."

"I understand. Let me know what you find at the next well."

I found similar canisters at every well I could get to in the next twenty minutes. They varied slightly in size and shape, but they were always downwind from the fire, as if to avoid burning their contents. Something about them troubled me deeply, but I couldn't tell what. "I'm breaking it off and coming home, Mel."

I completed my summary and sketches and was on my way to turn them in to Nofi when Kathleen returned from her session. She was white as a sheet.

"You all right, Kathleen?" Jenny asked as Mel ran to her.

"I'm fine, I think I just need to sit down for a while. It was hot in the room --"

She slumped forward in Mel's arms; her session papers fell from her hand and scattered on the floor. I helped Mel carry her to the couch, where we laid her down. She was moaning as Jenny dialed 911. Paul Posner appeared with a cold washcloth to wipe her face, and Nofi scrambled out of his office in the commotion. I thought I saw him actually get nervous there for a minute; he thought he was in trouble.

Fortunately, the hospital was just across the street and down a block or so, and Kathleen was even coming to by the time the ambulance arrived. I noticed her papers still scattered on the floor, and I hurried to pick them up before the ambulance crew came in.

It turned out that Kathleen was dehydrated; the heat of the viewing room and the intensity of the session had taken their toll. She'd be fine, and so would the baby; she just wouldn't be doing any more viewing as long as she was pregnant.

After the ambulance left, I went back to my desk with a fresh cup of coffee. I'd set Kathleen's papers down there; now I started putting them in order. And my heart nearly stopped. There on page five was a sketch of the cylinder in the sand, a sketch identical to mine.

"Oh, my God," I said aloud.

Riley came to a stop in front of my desk.

I jumped up and looked around the cubicle doorway to see if anyone else was coming. The coast was clear, so I sat Mel down in the chair beside my desk and handed him my sketches and Kathleen's.

"Look at these." I showed him my results.


"So? Are you kidding me? Look at them, they're the same as mine."

"Goddamn, Dave, they're supposed to be the same. You had nearly the same mission."

"No, I didn't. Look at Kathleen's tasking sheet, it's there at the bottom of the stack. She was supposed to took for evidence of chemical or biological agents. I was supposed to look for ' anything of military significance,' like a combat unit or a weapon, not to look for chemicals or bio-agents. What kind of fucking game are they playing here?"

Riley looked at me, confused. "I don't see what you're getting at, Dave."

Suddenly it all seemed clear to me. The DIA wanted to make sure that a chemical or biological agent had been released on U.S. troops, but they didn't want anyone else to know. So they made it appear to us remote viewers that we were targeting different areas, when in fact we were all targeted on the same area. They also tried to keep us from talking to one another.

If all of us remote viewers came up with the same results, the DIA would know that chemical or biological weapons had been used. However, none of us would know, because we would never be able to compare notes. Once the use of these unconventional weapons had been confirmed, the DIA could start their cover-up so the American public would never find out.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down a bit. "Okay, look. We all got called in to help out. Nofi doesn't want us to help, but we're shoved into his lap from all across the United States. Second, we're all targeted into the same area, with just minor changes in the coordinates -- something we wouldn't notice unless we sat down and compared notes, which is a violation of protocol. Third, each tasking is worded differently. They know we'll all stumble on the same thing, though -- they know the signal line will lead us to the most significant aspect of the site. So we give them confirmation of the employment of biological or chemical weapons, and we never even realize what we've done, because the only one to put it together is Nofi. ["John Nofi" DIA RV Project Stargate director -B:.B:.]

"And some closed intelligence cell at DIA," Mel said somberly.

"It's obvious that the Iraqis placed the canisters next to the fires to mask the plume from the canisters. So I think they released a slow-acting toxin to poison the coalition forces, and they covered it up with oil-well fires. Every soldier downwind of those fires must've inhaled the bug or whatever it was. The poor fuckers are walking around with time bombs inside themselves, and the rest of the world is distracted because the environment has been damaged. It's really slick. Un-fucking-believable." My face tingled, feeling as though it were a mask and not my own; my hands were numb. "They know it. Our fucking government knows it and they don't want anyone else to know it."

"Yeah, can you imagine if this got out? The fucking war is over and the treaty is being worked on. If this got out, all hell would break loose!"

"I'm more cynical than that. I think some lawyer in the Pentagon put a bug in the secretary's ear about the ramifications of having to answer to fifty thousand legal or medical claims against the government. I don't think our illustrious leaders want to break the bank taking care of the thousands of military who are affected by this thing especially since they don't know what the extent of the damage is. They'll just deny any knowledge of it, or spend the next seventy years faking research until everyone affected is in a box or in a VA hospital. This is a goddamned conspiracy, that's what it is."

Riley grabbed me by the arm and shook me. "Just wait a fucking minute. It all sounds good sitting here at this desk, but think about what you're saying. Think for a minute, just think." He released me and sat down again, his head in his hands. "If this is true, it's far bigger than either of us. We need more evidence. We need some other sessions."

"So pick one. Everybody in the place is going into the sand and smoke. When do you work the mission?"

Riley shook his head. "My session won't do any good: I've been shown the results of yours and Kathleen's, and anyone would say I duplicated your results to cause a ruckus. Goddammit, Dave, this is not good. We don't have anyone who will listen to us on this."

"We'll take it to the media!"

"Uh-huh. Who do you think will give you time to explain that you re a trained military psychic, who is part of this top- secret program at Fort Meade -- and no, you don't really work there anymore, they just called you in to visit for this special project?" He paused to put his hand on my shoulder. "You getting the picture yet, buddy? We weren't supposed to find this out, and just in case we did, they brushed their tracks out of the sand. Nobody will ever believe you. Nobody."

I stared out the window, shaking my head in disbelief. "So what do we do, Mel? We've seen this; what do we do, ignore it? Then how are we any different from the guy they were fighting over there?"

"I don't know," Mel said quietly.

"I'm going to tell Nofi that I know. I'll leave you out of it, but I want the bastard to know that I know what the fuckers are up to." I grabbed the papers from the desk and started out, but Mel blocked my way. "Move, Mel. I'm doing this!"

"Over my dead body. If you go in there and let him know that you're on to him, you may walk out of here tonight. But are you going to make it home? Think about it, asshole, what are you to them? If they went to these lengths to keep this quiet, do you think they'll let a burnout like you spoil their secret for them? How long do you think it would take them to kill you -- or just discredit you? Oh how are those goddamned nightmares, anyway?"

"Fuck you, Mel!"

"No, fuck you! You want some more? Where's your wife and children? How come they don't live with you anymore? Is it because you see things in the night? Is it because you walk in your sleep and swing at phantoms? What did you go home every night and tell your wife and kids about? Didn't you tell them that you could travel in time and see things remote in time and space. Didn't you do that, Major Morehouse? Isn't it true that you are simply delusional, perhaps psychotic?"

"You want to take on the big intelligence machine. You want to stand up like some fucking hero and tell the world that you saw the sons and daughters of the world poisoned by a madman. Then you want to add that the U.S. government orchestrated a cover-up. Oh, yes, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen of the court-martial jury, we have a prime lunatic on our hands. We strongly recommend that you find him guilty of treason and lock his fucking ass in Leavenworth until he dies. No, no -- better yet, let's give him some good mind-altering drugs and keep him in a hospital somewhere so his mom and dad can watch their son eat baby food through a straw." Riley was shaking with anger and frustration. "You can't do this now." He dropped to the chair, exhausted. "You can't. It will serve no purpose, and you will die in the process, I promise you. You have a family to think about. Now don't make me give you the fucking water parable again, okay? Just let it go for now. Please tell me you will let it go for now. Everything has it's season; this will, too. But not now. Promise me."

I bit my lip in frustration, yet I knew he was right. Everything he said was true, and speaking up would solve nothing. The heroes had been poisoned and I could say nothing. Nobody would ever believe me.

"I promise." I wiped a tear from my eye. "I promise."

I saw what happened ... and now, the babies of the heroes are dying.